


There's a World (That's Waiting to Unfold)

by activevirtues



Category: Goon (2011)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Families of Choice, First Time, Hockey Player Ass, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/activevirtues/pseuds/activevirtues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eva, Doug, and Xavier work out a definition of home that fits comfortably for all of them. Featuring Xavier's terrible scrambled eggs, Doug being more perceptive than anyone gives him credit for, and Eva's totally reasonable appreciation of hockey player ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's a World (That's Waiting to Unfold)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bgoodg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgoodg/gifts).



Eva has never lied to Doug, not since they started going out for real.

This is worth noting first and foremost, because Eva long ago came to terms with the fact that she is not a Nice Girl. She’s lied to pretty much every boyfriend she’s ever had, cheated on them all, and - if she’s honest, at least to herself - not really felt a lot of guilt about it.

Doug is different, though. Eva’s not a good person, but she recognizes what’s fair, and it wouldn’t be fair to lie to someone who believes just about anything you tell him. It’s one of her favorite things about him, actually.

And it’s not like he doesn’t _know_ how she is. She’s been honest with him from the beginning, honest like she’s only ever been with herself. He seems to genuinely not care that she has been, historically, kind of a total slut.

“Don’t call yourself that,” he says, brow furrowing a little, the third time she needles Xavier about how he’s even more of a slut than she ever was. “It’s not a nice word.”

“I’m not a nice girl, Doug,” she reminds him patiently.

“How come you aren’t mad about her calling me a slut?” Xavier says from the kitchen, where he’s making himself eggs. He’s just kicked out last night’s girl, having protested that they’ve got nothing but beer in the house but that the diner a few blocks over does beautiful pancakes.

The diner is actually a little farther than a few blocks over. Eva almost admires his ingenuity.

“Because you _are_ a slut, LaFlamme,” Eva says, laughing.

He just grins at her, waves his egg-crusted spatula in a little salute.

“No,” Doug says slowly, “he’s right. It’s not nice to call him a slut either.” 

“Okay, Dougie,” she says. “I won’t.”

They eat eggs together, the three of them, while watching highlights from last night on TSN. The eggs are pretty terrible, but they’re hot. Xavier smiles at her when she cleans her plate.

 

—

 

She keeps her promise to Doug, because of course she does. Breaking a promise to Doug would be like breaking a promise to your golden retriever. You _could_ do it, but it would accomplish nothing. He’d still love you with all his loyal, perfect heart, and you’d feel like a tool.

It’s hard, though, not to call herself a slut when she sits on the couch and watches Xavier lift weights in his baggy basketball shorts and not a lot else. He’s not built like Doug is - he’s lean, except for that hockey player ass, which. Well, nobody with eyes and a working libido could fault  her for that. He’s just - the sweat is dripping and he’s making these little grunting noises when he’s pushing out a few more bench presses, and she’s only human.

A very, very slutty human.

Goddammit. 

She shoves a corn chip in her mouth and crunches on it noisily, trying to focus on whatever the hell is going on on TV.  

“Looking good, buddy!” Doug calls as Xavier sits up, uses his shirt to wipe off his face. He turns to Eva. “He’s getting stronger,” he says happily to Eva.

“Yep,” she says, and tosses another couple of chips in her mouth.

“Have to, while you’re injured,” Xavier notes. “Until you come back, I have to be my own bodyguard.” 

Doug looks sad. “They said it would be soon,” he says. “I’ve always been a fast healer.”

What they said, Eva knows, was that it wouldn’t be until May at least - three months, if Doug was lucky. If he came back at all. Doug’s twitchy little friend hadn’t been lying when he said Doug had weak ankles.

But Doug refuses to acknowledge the possibility, and Xavier seems happy to follow suit. “You’ll be with us for the Final. We’ll win with you, or we’ll win for you.”

He stands, tosses his sweaty shirt at Doug. It hits him square in the face.

“Thanks, LaFlamme,” Eva says, deadpan. 

“Any time.” He winks at her and turns toward the shower, fingers already hooked in the waistband of his shorts.

“He’s looking good,” Doug notes.

“Yep,” she says again, and then turns her attention back to the TV, where a German Shepherd is running through the middle of what looks like a gathering of lumberjacks. “I used to watch this show when I was home sick from school,” she says after a while.

“I guess that’s kind of what I’m doing,” Doug says. “Except, hockey. Not school.” He takes her hand in his. It’s warm and callused and huge around hers, and she wonders not for the first time why he wants to be with someone like her.

“He’s gonna get you guys to the Final,” she says after a moment.

“He’s the best,” Doug says, voice warm. “I’m glad you guys get along so well. He kind of hates Pat. Well… not kind of. A lot. He hates Pat a lot.”

“Pat takes some getting used to,” she says diplomatically. “So does Xavier, for that matter.”

“He’s been trying really hard, though. Xavier, I mean.” Doug looks toward the bathroom, where the water has just shut off. He pitches his voice a little lower. “I think he’s not used to having a girl around for more than one night.”

She laughs. “I think you’re right.”

Xavier emerges from the bathroom then, a faded blue towel slung low around his hips, hair dripping down his shoulders and onto the carpet. He smiles at them both, brief and a little suggestive. Eva has no idea how Doug is missing it, but when she looks at him she sees him give a little wave and turn back to the TV, where the Littlest Hobo is, yeah, definitely solving a mystery at a lumberjack convention.

There’s water still beading at the small of Xavier’s back as he turns to kitchen. She wants to lick it. She wants to lick it a _lot_.

“You want a beer, Dougie?” Xavier asks.

“I’m good, but thank you for asking,” he says, polite as always.

“Eva?”

“Yes,” she answers, and her voice is a little breathy. “Beer, definitely.”

He twists it open with a corner of his towel, showing a pale expanse of thigh. Oh, god, she’s a terrible person. A terrible, terrible person. 

“You okay?” Doug asks her. 

“Very,” she says. “I’m just - are you done in the bathroom? Because I need - I’ll be right back.”

She goes into the bathroom and brushes her teeth. It’s the only thing she can think of to do. _Get your shit together,_ she tells herself in the mirror. She’d be calling herself a slut, but she promised Doug.

The bathroom smells like Xavier’s body wash - something fancy, not the Axe that she would have figured just from meeting him - and it makes her face heat a little. She brushes her teeth a second time, just to have something to do with her hands, and then flushes the toilet.

Xavier is sitting in her spot next to Doug when she comes out, legs stretched out underneath the coffee table and one arm draped behind Doug along the back of the couch. “I love this show,” he tells her by way of explanation when she pulls up short at the door. “Helped me learn English when I was little.”

They watch the rest of the episode together, Xavier sprawled between them. Her beer tastes awful with her teeth freshly brushed. 

There’s a wet spot in the shape of Xavier when he finally gets up to put some clothes on after the episode is over. Eva thinks it might be a metaphor for something.

 

—

 

Probably the second thing Eva understood about Doug - second only to the fact that he finds her about a hundred times more attractive than she herself thinks she deserves - was that his chief talent is, contrary to popular belief, _not_ beating the shit out of people. He’s good at that, yeah. But it isn’t something he takes joy in. He isn’t an enforcer for enforcement’s sake.

At his heart, Doug lives for taking care of people. If he were smarter, he would have made an amazing doctor - probably better than his parents, Eva thinks, though she would never tell them that. But he’s not, and he’s okay with that as long as he can find other ways to take care of the people he loves.

By some inexplicable luck she counts herself among the people Doug loves. So she lets him take care of her as much as she can these days, because he’s going kind of crazy with his limited mobility. So when he asks her one night, after she’s ridden him until they were both sweaty and fucked-out, if she’s happy, she’s not lying to him when she bites at his shoulder a little and says, “Yeah, of course.”

He kisses the top of her head fondly. “You could be happier, though.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she says against his skin. “Do you - you know I want to be here, right? With you?”

She can feel him nod beside her, his breath warming her skin. After a minute he says, “I want you to be who you are, though. As long as you’re with me, you can be who you want to be and I won’t be mad at you.”

His hand is tracing little circles on the bare skin of her back now, and she shivers with it. “I don’t understand where this is coming from,” she says, but even as it leaves her mouth she wonders if maybe she does, deep down.

“I know I’m not the smartest guy in the world,” he begins.

“I don’t care about that,” she interrupts. “I lo- I care about…” _No_ , she thinks. _The truth._ “I love you, just how you are.”  

He huffs out a pleased little laugh, and it stirs her hair. “I can’t believe you said that,” he says. “But I’m glad you did. Can’t I love you, too? Just how you are?”

“How am I?” she asks. She tries to keep the shakiness out of her voice. 

There’s a pause for a moment. He’s thinking. She always imagines she can hear the wheels turning in his head when he does that, a pleasant creak that makes her smile against his chest. 

“I talked to Xavier,” he says. “I know you want him.”

“I want you,” she insists, and it’s the truth. But it’s not the whole truth, and they both know it. “I want him,” she admits after a moment. “I want both of you.”

“He wants both of us, too,” Doug says.

“ _Oh_ ,” she says faintly. “That’s… something you want, too?” 

“People are for loving,” he says, almost chastisingly. “My brother’s gay." 

She thinks she knows what he means.

 

—

 

So that’s between them now, and it should make it easier - it should make her stop being worried. But now it makes her wonder if they’re taking care of Doug enough, she and Xavier. Whether he would have brought this up in the first place if they’d been taking care of him, showing him that he’s enough, that he makes them happy.

Eva doesn’t do guilt well. She doesn’t wear it comfortably, and she can’t push it away with ease. It makes for an uneasy spice to the way she looks at Xavier, to the way Xavier looks at her. Because Doug is there, whether he’s in the room or not. And at the end of the day, they’re both kind of awful people, both very much aware that Doug is about eight different kinds of too good for them.

They don’t fuck.

It’s probably not the outcome Doug had imagined when he talked to them. But Doug’s imagination, from the shit Pat has said the last time he came to visit, has always been a little weird.

 

—

 

She thinks maybe Doug and Xavier have started having sex, though. Xavier stops bringing girls home, at least, and she will freely admit she enjoys not coming home at night to a drunk Dalhousie coed doing shots in her kitchen, but it’s a little weird to see Xavier break up his routine. He’s still got bruises, too, the way he does when he’s been having break-the-bed sex - the kind that draw her eye when he’s shirtless in the kitchen making them terrible scrambled eggs - but then again, those could be from hockey.

It’s all just uncertain, and uncomfortable, and it’s only by some small miracle that Doug, at least, doesn’t seem to get the awkwardness in the apartment.

Or maybe he does, and doesn’t know how to take care of it, when he was the one who created it in the first place.

Maybe, she thinks, this is something they have to do for him.

It takes about a week and a half of tense, awkward takeout dinners and nights out where one or two or all of them get too drunk too quickly. Finally, on an afternoon when Doug is at a doctor’s appointment and Xavier is at practice, it hits her. She’s standing over the sink, scrubbing at a mug that held possibly cereal, or maybe some sort of milk-based cocktail - it’s pretty gross - when she remembers.

She’s never lied to Doug, not since they started dating. But somewhere along the way she’s forgotten that he’s never lied to her either. She has to trust that he hasn’t started now.

“What are you smiling about?” Xavier has come in behind her - she didn't hear the door open, but he’s at the doorway to the kitchen, reaching around her to snag an apple out of the bowl on the counter. He bites into it, chews with his mouth open.

Normally Eva would make a face at him, but instead she just - smiles wider. She actually may have broken her face.

He sets the apple down. “ _Osti_ , finally.”

And then he’s kissing her. 

She finds herself pressed up against the kitchen counter, mouth opening under his, before she really registers what’s happening. By then his hands - quick hands, _quick_ , oh god -  have slid into her hair, and the sensation of being put into place like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle is almost as satisfying as the taste of his mouth, the nip of his teeth. He pulls back a little to sip almost delicately at her mouth, just the barest brush of kiss, before delving in again, and there’s such _finesse._ She feels her face heat, and finally she realizes that yes, she can move her hands, that is a thing she can do.

So she grabs his ass - honestly, what else was she going to grab, given the opportunity - and kisses him back in earnest.

 

—

 

Xavier has her hitched up onto the counter, legs crossed behind the small of his back, when Doug comes in.

“We’re doing this!” she hears him say happily, and when she turns to see he’s got a smile on his face like Xavier’s just put a puck in the back of the net for him.

“Glad you’re home,” Xavier says.

“I’m glad you’re home, too!” Doug says, and when he leans in to kiss Xavier all Eva can think is, _I’m glad I’m home, too._

 

—

 

They make it to Doug’s bed, but it’s a close thing. Xavier and Doug don’t really have any issues with having sex in the kitchen - “It’s not like I haven’t done it before,” Xavier says, like that’s going to convince her, and Eva whacks him across the chest and hisses, “We prepare _food_ in here, dickweed!”

But it’s pretty clear that she had the right idea in putting her foot down, because she’s spread out between them, racing down the path to naked. Doug is mouthing at her nipple, his stubble a delicious scratch against her skin, and Xavier’s fingers are dipping under the elastic of her panties as he sucks a bruise into the skin of Doug’s neck. Doug doesn’t bruise easily, she knows, so it’s going to take some effort.

She hitches up on her elbows to watch them. Doug’s face is a study in intensity, and she wonders if it means anything that he gets the same look on his face whether he’s about to fight or about to fuck. She hasn’t been able yet to pull the look off his face when they have sex - it’s like once his goal is set, he gets tunnel vision, and that’s what tunnel vision looks like on him. It’s not like she _minds_ it. It’s actually pretty sexy.

At the back of her mind, though, she wonders how he’ll look when he’s the object of someone else’s goal. Maybe, she thinks, maybe she and Xavier can do that for him.

It’s hard for her to tear herself away from what’s unfolding in front of her - and fuck, Xavier’s fingers are trailing through the wetness between her legs, spreading it around, and there are noises coming out of her mouth she didn’t mean to make - but she manages to sit up. Doug makes a little sound of protest, but Xavier stops it with his mouth. Watching him kiss Doug is almost as good as being kissed by him, Eva thinks. He’s so fucking thorough, like when he makes the decision to do something right he refuses to let go until it’s done.

Together they press Doug back against the bed, careful to move around his leg. She guides one of his hands to her cunt, slipping it into her panties, while she leans up to let him lick at one of her breasts. It distracts him - both of them, if she’s honest - long enough for Xavier to make quick work of both their jeans, and when Doug gasps against the wet skin of her nipple she looks over her shoulder to see a thoroughly naked Xavier swallowing Doug’s cock down.

She feels herself clench around Doug’s finger, pulling him deeper, and thinks, _I needed this_.

Xavier pulls off just long enough to say, “Take the rest off, Eva,” and then he’s bringing one hand up to jack Doug slowly while his mouth bites at the meat of Doug’s quite substantial thigh. Xavier is pretty obviously getting off on this, Eva sees - his pale skin is flushing from his cheeks down to his chest, and he’s rubbing his dick against the mattress as he holds Doug down with his other hand.

Thinking back to the gold mouthguard that he couldn’t manage to keep from chewing on, it kind of makes sense, actually.

“Eva,” he snaps, “panties.” He punctuates this with a quick slap to Doug’s inner thigh - not on his injured leg, because he’s not an idiot - before he takes Doug all the way down again.

She shifts Doug’s hand out of her underwear, and immediately he brings his finger up to his mouth to lick at. It makes her hurry up even more as she shimmies out of them, tossing them behind her without really caring where they land.

“Sit on his face,” Xavier says, and _fuck_.

“Yes, please,” Doug gasps out, but she’s already moving to comply, because of all the things you don’t need to ask her to do twice, it’s that.

Doug eats her out like it’s the only thing he ever wants to do - like he’s made studying the best way to use his mouth on her cunt his life’s work. It’s impressive, normally, though not exactly surprising when she stops to try to work it out. (After sex, of course. During sex she’s a little too busy coming her brains out under his lips and tongue and fingers and cock to do any kind of major analysis.)

Now, though, with Xavier applying every last bit of his oral fixation to Doug’s dick, he wavers back and forth between working her over better than he’s ever done before, and forgetting exactly what he’s doing. Two of his fingers twist inside her one moment, perfectly timed with that thing he does with the flat of his tongue on her clit that always gets her half a breath from coming. The next moment his hands are twitching off-rhythm and he’s moaning into her, words that probably wouldn’t make sense even if they weren’t muffled by her cunt. It’s frustrating and gorgeous and hot as fuck, when she turns to the side to see what Xavier is doing to him - the way Xavier’s long body is twisting into the motion of cocksucking like it’s a fucking performance.

“You should see him,” she gets out, watching the swish of Xavier’s hair in motion with what is probably a truly epic blowjob. “He wants you so bad, Dougie. He loves it.”

Doug’s rhythm is really off now, and isn’t coming back, so she holds one of his hands in place and twists her hips against it, sitting up so he can get enough air not to suffocate. She’s pretty sure she’s dripping onto his face now. The mental image does things for her. 

“You take care of us so good, Dougie,” she says. “So fucking good, _God_.”  

She speeds up, and watches Xavier’s head bob faster, his eyes meeting hers as he looks up at them through his lashes. The stretch of his lips, bruised and red around Doug’s cock, is absolutely obscene. Then he - he fucking winks at her, like he knows what she’s thinking, and _hums_ around the dick in his mouth and it’s almost like she feels it inside her, too, because she’s grinding against Doug’s hand, three fingers deep inside her now, and coming so hard she thinks the room starts to sparkle.

When things come back into focus she sees that Doug has pulled his hand away to pet at Xavier’s hair - clearly someone has taught him not to grab, though she suspects Xavier wouldn’t mind even a little. “You close, baby?” she asks, and he answers her. She can’t exactly make out words, but she’s pretty sure it was meant to be an answer, anyway.

“You could ride him,” Xavier says, hand moving firmly down the shaft of Doug’s cock, slick and shiny with _so_ much spit. “Or… come here and help? You think he’s ever had two mouths on his cock?”

She can see Doug’s abs clench at that, the thought of the two of them working him over together, and scrambles across the bed to Xavier’s side. He’s licking at Doug’s balls now, working them into his mouth with one hand as he keeps a slow, firm pace on Doug’s dick with the other.

It’s pretty clear, from this angle, exactly where she can slot herself in. They can fit together, the three of them - she and Xavier can do this, can take care of Doug the way he always wants to take care of them.

Leaning in, she finds herself conscious of the sway of her breasts against Xavier’s shoulder. She licks at the head of Doug’s cock, follows the vein with her tongue until she’s taking him in, meeting Xavier’s hand almost at the base. His thumb strokes her cheek once, briefly, strangely gentle for what they’re doing, and then he pulls his hand away, letting her take over.

There’s a buzz under Doug’s skin, she can feel it - the pulse of blood and the shifting of his come. He’s so close, and he’s making gorgeous sex-dumb sounds that ring in her ears. Meanwhile Xavier’s free hand is trailing up the inside of her thigh, playing in the wetness that’s dripping against her skin, tracing shapes as he gets closer and closer to her cunt. It’s so much - the sounds they’re making, the taste of Doug getting closer and closer in her mouth, the tease of Xavier’s fingers so close to where she needs them.

Then Xavier is pulling her up a little, kissing her deeply around the head of Doug’s cock, and that’s when he makes a sound like he’s being hit and comes apart between them, hot trails of come bursting to life on their tongues and hitting their faces. It’s so fucking much - she needs someone inside of her, and she’s about to say so when Xavier growls, “I need to fuck you right fucking now,” and he’s got a condom on so quick she only has a moment to wonder just how much practice he’s had at it before he’s inside her, fucking her against the end of the bed where she lays in the juncture of Doug’s legs.

She can barely focus on anything but the sensation of finally, _fucking_ finally, being filled up, how the curve of his dick seems to hit every spot inside her that was screaming out to be noticed. But through the red haze of need, she sees him look down at her, sees his eyes drink her in like he’s never seen anything like her before, and then - then flicker up to Doug, who she knows must be watching them both.

Doug’s hand finds hers, and she grips it tight as Xavier fucks her. She doesn’t need to tell him harder or faster, even if she could bring herself to speak. All she needs is to keep watching him - the way his gaze darts between both of them, the sheen of sweat that beads his flushed chest - and her hips snap up to meet his, rhythm just exactly what her body wants from this.

“So beautiful,” she hears Doug say somewhere above her, and she doesn’t know who he’s talking to, but it doesn’t fucking matter. They’re _his_. Her hips stutter out of time, and she’s coming again, from some bone-deep place inside her, like Doug and Xavier have reached into her body and pulled out the fucking platonic ideal of an orgasm. She’s going to remember that orgasm for the _rest of her fucking life._  

When she comes back to herself, Xavier’s slumped against her chest, and she can feel the condom wanting to slide off around his soft dick, still inside her. Doug is still collapsed back against the pillows underneath her, and she thinks maybe this is the most comfortable she’s ever been in a situation where she probably should be really uncomfortable.

“Hey,” she says, whacking Xavier in the shoulder. “You might want to…”

“ _Tabarnac_ ,” he mutters, and shifts around a bit until he can pull out, tying off the condom with one hand - again, she wonders just how much he’s practiced this shit - and tossing it in the general direction of the trash can.

“You’re gonna clean that later,” she tells him, and he rolls his eyes at her.

“Later,” Doug says. “Nap now. Game tonight.”

It’s easy, so easy, to slide up the bed, configure themselves around Doug like a two-person blanket. It’s warm and comfortable and she drifts away from herself, away from any worry she might still be carrying, with Doug’s heartbeat in her ear and Xavier’s hand curled at the curve of her hip.

“I’m going to score two goals for you tonight,” Xavier says to the room.

“Yes, please,” she hears Doug reply before she falls fully into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I totally took the title of this from the theme song to the Littlest Hobo. No regrets.
> 
> Thanks to [Siria](http://siriaeve.livejournal.org) for stepping up and betaing this story - all remaining mistakes are my own!
> 
> If you've got a tumblr, and you like hockey, pop culture, Dylan O'Brien, and dog photos, why not follow me at [activevirtues](http://activevirtues.tumblr.com)?


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